


i got your body doing alright

by cleverfics



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom Harry, Finger Fucking, M/M, Overstimulation, Rimming, Top Louis, and if you squint hard enough there's a tiny little bit of comeplay, football au, porn it's basically all porn, they fuck in louis' car
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 13:41:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleverfics/pseuds/cleverfics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> post-game louis is a sight to see, his hair dishevelled and matted onto his forehead, his shorts clinging to his skin, beads of sweat dripping down his bare torso. but if you asked louis, post-game harry is his favourite. the way his eyes are a deeper green, almost black, the way his body is cascading over louis’ with serious intent, but also sinking into him with such pride and love. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	i got your body doing alright

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from "tiffany blews" by fall out boy  
> for jenny and kaitlyn and whoever else i promised this to  
> enjoy!!!

  Harry is dressing when the low thrill of his boyfriend’s engine growls from the drive. He’s just pulling the stretch cotton over the bare of his torso when he leaps for the window, throwing the glass upward and sticking his head right outside, along with one of those never ending limbs to wave at Louis, where he now sits perched up on the hood of his yellow car.

  It’s Friday, nearing seven o’clock, and each minute passing by is one minute closer to Louis’ football game. Harry goes insistently every week, as he is Louis’ self-proclaimed good luck charm. He wouldn’t dare miss any of Louis’ games, if not for that, then because he simply couldn’t bring himself to miss the opportunity to watch Louis run around, hot and sweaty in his kit for an hour and a half. 

  When Louis sees Harry he blushes, taking in how he’s got a _1_ and a _7_ smeared on each cheek in the same royal blue that matches Louis’ jersey. Harry sporting his number on his face brings Louis the same kind of giddiness he feels when he sees Harry’s white shirt decorated with _Tomlinson_ in big bold letters across his chest.

  “You ready?” Louis calls up to him, excitement glazing over every note of his voice.

  Harry sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, biting down as he clasps the button on his trousers. He shoots Louis a thumbs up before closing the window, and he slings his bag over his shoulder and heads downstairs.

  He’s a mischievous boy, though, so with a smirk he races back up to his room and grabs some scanty clothes from his closet. When he finally does meet Louis outside, there’s a ball of fabric bunched up in his hands.

  “What do you say I do this properly and get dressed up for the game?” Harry teases, pulling the fabric out against his waist. It’s a cheerleading uniform, stretched out between his fingers, and he dangles it at his hips with an eyebrow cocked in that _I’m-only-half-joking_ kind of way.

  Louis’ eyes pop slightly before he regains his composure—if you could really call it that; he’s licked his lips twice already—and clears the gruff of his throat. “How about we save the skirt for when I can fuck you in it?”

  Harry bats his stupidly pretty eyelashes at the idea, curtsying once while still holding the blue uniform against himself. Louis nearly comes in his pants. Harry eventually tosses the skirt in the back seat and hops into Louis’ car, patting the hood as if to say _let’s get a move on!_

  Louis’ fingers thrum anxiously against the steering wheel the whole drive to the stadium, and Harry can feel his pre-game nerves radiating from his person in the seat next to him. When he parks the car he pulls the keys from the ignition, taking in a deep breath. His fingertips go back to tapping the leather wheel as he exhales, and Harry places a hand sternly on Louis’ thigh, successfully pulling him from his state and gaining his attention.

  “Louis,” Harry mumbles, his voice having a calming effect of its own. “You’re going to do great.”

  “You can’t possibly know that,” Louis shakes his head with the words, but finds his fingers have stopped their trepidated rhythm.

  Harry tells him he’s being ridiculous, and Louis sighs, not pressing his nerves any further. They walk into the stadium, Louis’ hand enclosed in the warmth of Harry’s. Harry walks him to the locker room, carrying Louis’ duffle bag over his shoulder for him, and when they get to the door he hands it over.

  “Wish me luck?” Louis’ eyes are verging on desperation, and Harry laughs.

  “You don’t even need it,” he winks, and when Louis turns to enter the room and change, Harry’s hand reaches out to slap his bum.

  “Prat!” Louis gasps, and Harry simply mouths‘love you’ before pushing him through the door.

  He walks past the bleachers filled with proud parents and a bunch of his classmates eager to show off their school spirit, and he takes his place along the sidelines, rubbing his hands together with anticipation. He closes his eyes with the friction between his palms and lets out an exercised breath, ready to watch his boy defeat their rival team. He knows that back in the locker room Louis’ coach is giving their team a powerful talk while they throw on their jerseys, one laced with the pep that sparks their nerves and gives them the incentive they need to dominate the field.

  Sirens blow loud as the scoreboard lights up and the players run out on the pitch. Harry’s eyes don’t even have to search, they just narrow in on Louis as he runs out, treading over the blades of green grass beneath his feet. His arms are spread out as if he’s soaring, his fingers spread apart, each digit cutting through the air around him. Louis looks so good out there; looks as if he _belongs_ there. It takes everything in Harry not to run onto the field and pounce on him right then and there.

  The whistle is sharp and loud, and the game is started. Louis may be small but he runs faster than fire and he dodges through players with great agility. When the ball is at his feet he carries it up the field with such grace, and he boots it up, weaving defensemen and passing it to a teammate.

  It’s five minutes into the game and Harry’s throat is already hoarse, his voice worn from bursting out shouts of pride. “You’ve got this Louis! It’s all yours, babe!”

  When Louis throws the ball in from the sideline, Harry is more than appreciative of the arch in his back, the way his body curves with the toss, the way he drags his toe with the follow through. He scoots back in intercepting a pass and kicks it forward indirectly. His left wing takes control, striking the ball out to Louis in front of the net and he hikes it up with the tip of his toe before butting it into the net off the top of his head.

  Harry snickers at the goalie’s disgruntled look, screaming at the top of his lungs, “Good job, baby!” And when Louis looks to Harry, his whole face lit up with disbelief, Harry flashes him the brightest of grins and a thumbs up. “Go Louis!”

  When Louis has to run back to their end of the field to gain back possession of the ball, Harry follows him down the line. He chews on his lip, watching Louis’ footwork intently as he kicks and rolls the ball back from his opponent, flitting through more players of the other team. He paces back up the sidelines as Louis makes way for the net, ignoring the pointed glares from the coaches. He keeps his eye on his boy as he makes his next shot, the ball flying up into the right corner of the net, the goalkeeper diving into the dirt as the ball tangles in the mesh.

  Harry can barely contain himself, jumping up and cheering out. Louis sends him a wink as he runs back to center field and Harry shouts some more, and Louis’ energy boosts with each sound of encouragement coming from him.

  Nearing the end of the final period the scoreboard displays 2-2, and Harry can see the way Louis is letting his nerves get to him now. There’s roughly five minutes of the game left and Louis is running faster, charging at players and stealing the ball from their feet. His passes are hasty and rushed, desperate to get to the net in time.

  “Come on Louis, you can do this!” Harry screams, and it’s just what Louis needs.

  A shudder rolls through his body and he jogs up the field, his head turned back to watch his striker take the ball up. He aligns himself perfectly between his teammate and the net, and when the other boy passes him the ball Louis feels the adrenaline he needs pump through his veins. He turns it fast and he hikes the ball up into the corner of the net. The crowd is already cheering, knowing Louis’ won the game for them, but the stadium falls quiet when the goalie springs upward, blocking the shot with the palms of his hands.

  It’s an innate reaction, as a player of his status, to act on the move without thinking. The ball has barely rebounded from the opponent’s hands when Louis decides to test his stamina, and he manages to reach it before it’s even hit the ground. Harry could swear the whole play was in slow motion, and his voice catches in his throat as Louis volleys the ball off his heel, spinning in the air and landing on the ground, his hands taking the weight of his fall.

  The ref blows the whistle to end the game just as the ball soars through the air, right past the goalkeeper. The sound of the ball whooshing into the net can be heard by everyone, the whisper of the wind haunting the entire stadium.

  It’s like Harry’s voice has been swallowed down, for the first time throughout the game he is lost for words. Instead of shouting out like everyone else supporting Louis’ team, Harry just runs onto the field, knocking into Louis’ hard chest and wrapping his arms around the taut, sweaty boy.

  “That was insane!” He says loudly, his voice tired and breaking. His eyes are squinted with enthusiasm, and his fingers clench the damp fabric of Louis’ jersey between them, holding him close.

  Louis doesn’t have time to respond, his arms being pulled from Harry as his teammates hoist him up on their shoulders, everyone carrying him across the field. When they reach the stands they grab their drinks, spraying orange gatorade on each other. Their cheers are boisterous and wild as they dance around the field, splashing and high-fiving each of their teammates.

  When the players head for the locker room they’re sticky with sweat and juice, and Harry wants to run his tongue all over Louis’ body. He catches up to him before he enters the locker room, tearing his soaked shirt off over his head just outside the door.

 “Don’t,” Harry says weakly. “Don’t even think about showering right now.”

  Louis smirks at the lust in Harry’s eyes and when Harry grabs him by the hand, Louis lets him lead him to the back of the small building just outside the pitch.

  Post-game Louis is a sight to see, his hair dishevelled and matted onto his forehead, his shorts clinging to his skin, beads of sweat dripping down his bare torso. But if you asked Louis, post-game Harry is his favourite. The way his eyes are a deeper green, almost black, the way his body is cascading over Louis’ with serious intent, but also sinking into him with such pride and love.

  Louis feels invincible, his high radiating off his body against Harry, who presses his feelings into Louis’ slick skin. His lips trace over Louis’ body, the combination of juice and sweat collecting on the tip of his tongue as he licks over each of Louis’ bulging muscles. Harry peppers kisses down Louis’ belly, his hands gripping his boyfriend’s hips probably harder than necessary, but he likes the feel of Louis’ skin under the pressure of his fingers.

  Harry’s teeth skim over the fabric of Louis’ shorts, his nose nudging into the dip just above Louis’ pelvis. He doesn’t take them off though, his mouth wandering further down until he scopes out the shape of Louis’ erection, desperate with the need to escape its confines.

  He mouths over it, the feel of his lips over layers making Louis’ knees buckle. He can feel Harry’s hot breath ghost over his cock and he grips Harry’s head of hair, his fingers twining haphazardly into curls. Louis’ shoulders start to cave in as Harry’s tongue starts to prod at his length too, and when Harry starts to suck at the cotton mesh, Louis’ hips twitch and he decides the suction is too much to handle.

  “Let’s go,” Louis’ voice wavers, but he successfully unleashes his fingers from Harry’s hair and pulls him upward again. Harry’s face is more or less of a question mark, and Louis just shakes his head, though he’s not sure why. “The boys are all showering, so there’s no one in the parking lot right now. Let’s go.”

  They don’t even make it _into_ the car, Louis just throws Harry against it and rucks his throbbing cock against Harry’s crotch, which is also considerably hard. He wraps his arms around Harry and filthy sounds stream out like whispers from his mouth as Harry’s lips suck and nip at the smooth skin of his neck.

  Louis uses one hand to search blindly behind him for the handle of the door, but he finds it to be harder than he thought, as Harry doesn’t hesitate to nibble at the corner of his ear. When he finally finds it he spins them around and opens the door in one swift movement, and he shimmies himself into the backseat, his eyes never breaking their vision of Harry, who’s ripping his shirt off over his head and crawling in now too.

  Harry peels off Louis’ shin guards and he tosses them aside with his cleats. Next his fingers are bunching up Louis’ shorts and tugging them down his thighs, exposing Louis’ tanned skin and flush cock.

  Harry knows better than to take his time, barely wasting a second to take in a breath before he’s wrapping his red, red lips around the head of Louis’ cock and sucking him down as far as he can handle, his palm encircling the difference, stroking up and down from the base to where his fingers meet his lips. Louis’ knee knocks against Harry’s shoulder in the tight space as he swallows down a moan that’s drawn by the feel of Harry’s tongue smoothing over the veins of his underside.

  “Harry, Ha _rry_ ,” Louis says, his voice breaking over the last syllable. He tugs on one of those dark chocolate curls, and Harry manages to look up, his mouth still spread around the thickness of Louis’ cock, those dark green eyes glassier than Louis’ ever seen them. “Baby—finish undressing, baby please,” Louis whines, his fingers finding Harry’s belt loops and tugging mercilessly at them, wanting so desperately to see those beautiful legs, feel his fingers run over the softest parts of them, and bite down on the insides of his thighs.

  Harry manages with minimal struggle to shimmy out of his skin-tight jeans and throw them somewhere, anywhere, he doesn’t care, really, as he won’t be needing them any time soon. He presses himself against the closed door behind him, his legs spread apart for Louis to crawl between. As heated as they may be, Louis still happens to handle Harry with the gentlest of touches as he maneuvers them so that Harry’s legs are braced up on his shoulders, his heels digging into Louis’ shoulder blades as he bites ever so slightly at the junction where Harry’s thigh meets his groin.

  Louis is nothing if not thorough, placing light kisses that draw sounds of need and desperation for more starting at the base of Harry’s cock, full and flush with his belly. He leaves a trail of them heading south until he presses one last soft lipped kiss to Harry’s hole, and he squirms, unable to contain himself as Louis licks over it. Louis encircles it two or three times (who’s keeping count, really?) before giving a push to protrude in, tongue lapping at the walls that he licks further into.

  Harry finds himself trying to find something, _anything_ to grab onto, but his fingernails just lash over the black upholstery of the back seat he’s splayed out across, fibres nicking into the corners of his nails, unable to find purchase. His back arches and an obscene moan rips itself from the back of his throat as Louis’ tongue swirls around to stretch out his hole, so wet and slick with spit.

  He’s never felt such a sensation, pleasure on the brink of pain, when Louis adds a finger, prodding its way inside him as Louis’ tongue continues to lap at the ring and pushes its way back in alongside the digit. Harry chokes on the sound that catches in his throat when Louis curls his finger on the drawback, stretching him just enough to add a second finger.

  “You are so fucking hot,” Louis pants, his plump lips sheening in the very last strip of daylight that shines in through the window in front of him. He’s glowing, fucking _glowing_ , and Harry’s pretty sure he could get off just looking at Louis like this, and he’s also pretty sure that Louis finger fucking him, scissoring him open until his hole burns with pleasure isn’t helping any.

  “Please, Louis please, I’m—”

  “D’you think you could get off just like this, baby?” Louis asks, meeting Harry’s glassy eyes.

  Harry opens his mouth to say that yes, yes he definitely can, but he can’t find his voice so he clamps his mouth shut, teeth clashing together as Louis chooses this moment to thrust a third finger into him. He settles for nodding, because if there was any doubts about it before, all has been washed away now as he can feel his throat contracting with the noises that wish to escape his tightly pressed lips.

  Louis’ free hand finds its way up to Harry’s chest, palm resting on his collarbone, fingers curling over his shoulder and pressing into his trapezius, and Harry flexes, tightening himself into Louis’ embrace. Louis can feel Harry’s heart beating untimely, pounding up to meet his hand, the feel of it quickening with the pace of his breathing.

  As Louis’ fingers continue to spread and curl and brush over all the right places as they work Harry in every which way, Harry’s hands dart right for his cock, so full, leaking, and craving to be touched.

  “No,” Louis says, his voice barred and serious, just another thing that further ignites the heat building up inside of Harry. He swats Harry’s hands away, “Don’t touch yourself.”

  “Please, Lou—”

  “Just my fingers. Can you do that? For me?” Louis says to cut off Harry’s quiet whimpers. There’s a hint of innocence to his voice when he asks the questions, as though it were the first time he’d ever seen Harry unwind for him like this, so spoiled and yet so desperate for more. It’s not the first time, of course, but if you ask Louis, he’d say that every time goes above and beyond.

  Louis knows when Harry’s close, so close the boy can probably taste the edge he’s teetering from on the tip of his tongue. He’s got it down to a science now, you see, he’s memorized every expression, every twitch, every sound. Harry’s cheeks grow pink, a blush that colours the alabaster of his face, burning rosacea that spreads right to his ears. His eyes are shut tight, little crinkles forming at the corners where his pretty eyelashes are their longest, fanning out against his cheekbones. His whole body tightens, his knees caving inward until they knock together, and then finally, when he’s finally let himself go, those long, long legs of his fall lackadaisically to the side, letting Louis back in against his body to share his peek with the boy who brought him to such euphoria.

  This time though, Louis doesn’t crawl back in against his chest and wipe away the strings of white cum that are painted on his stomach and thighs. Instead he slides between the front seats of his car and opens the glove box with one hand, fishing around for the supplies he knows are in there. When he finds them he rolls a condom over his length and squeezes a sizable dollop of lubricant into the palm of his hand, smearing a coat of it over his cock as he strokes down his shaft.

  He wipes his hands on his thighs before cupping Harry’s face, kissing him hard and hot, biting down on Harry’s bottom lip. God, he needed to do that.

  He lets his still slippery hands slide down Harry’s chest, his fingertip flicking over one of Harry’s nipples, continuing downward until they find his hips. _This_ is the best part for Louis, seeing Harry laid out in front of him, wrecked and beautiful, his skin sticky from sweat, spunk, and the juice splattered on Louis’ own body.

  Louis lifts Harry’s waist up to a more comfortable position for the both of them before swiping his thumb over Harry’s stomach, collecting a bit of cum on his fingertip and bringing it to his lips and sucking it off, letting the sweet but salty substance swirl around on his tongue. As he lines himself up with Harry’s hole, he runs his fingers up and down Harry’s shaft, his thumb sliding over the slit, trying to keep the blood pumping through those dark, hungry veins.

  He braces the insides of Harry’s thighs as he pushes himself in, little by little, knowing how sensitive Harry is to overstimulation. He holds himself about half way through, his palms kneeding and massaging Harry’s soft thighs, thumb extending out to sweep across the base of Harry’s dick, brushing lightly over his balls as well on the way back down.

  When Louis begins to push further he gives his all into Harry, having to bite down hard on his lip when Harry clenches around him, “Fuck Harry,” he breathes, “so tight baby, you’re so, _so_ tight.” Harry’s eyes roll back when Louis begins to move, pulling back and snapping his hips into him again and again, finding a perfect rhythm.

  Harry’s hands find Louis’ arms, his fingernails sinking into his boy’s biceps, leaving crescent marks so deep he’s sure they’ll bruise but neither of them care because Louis’ fucking into Harry like he’s found religion in the way Harry twitches when he hits is prostate, and Harry’s fucking himself further down onto Louis like he’s fighting for the life that’s been sucked out of him for that fraction of a second that their hips don’t meet.

  Louis sees the hiccup of sound that Harry swallows down, tries to keep quiet. He thrusts himself harder into Harry, saying, “Don’t do that—fuck, Harry—let me hear you.” And Harry does, he lets that blockage down and feels his voice, hoarse and broken, spill out of his throat and flood the steamy car. Louis reacts like it’s music to his ears; like it adds to the incentive that he didn’t need to go on, to further pleasure the boy beneath him.

  “Louis, Louis, _Louis_ ,” he whines, snapping his hips further down onto Louis’ cock. He can feel it, he can feel his orgasm building up, chasing itself down every vein throughout his body, curling his toes and flushing his face.

  “Gonna come for me again?” Louis coaxes, his voice like melted wax that warms Harry’s exterior even further. “Come on baby, come for me,” he says, snapping his hips and accurately hitting Harry’s prostate not once or twice, but three times and Harry’s seeing stars, what’s left of him spurting out in white strings against his belly.

  Feeling Harry’s body contract and tighten around him pushes Louis off the edge, making him a spluttery mess of profanities and broken moans, blinding euphoria and lazy thrusts as he rides out his orgasm. He lets himself fall onto Harry’s sticky body, their chests moving in sync with each laboured breath.

  When Louis finally finds it in himself to move again he searches for his duffle bag, wherever they threw it, and he pulls his towel out, wiping Harry clean before running the cloth across his own stomach. He’s searching for his clothes on the floor of the car when he sees Harry make an uncomfortable face before trying to yank out something wedged underneath of him.

  “What a shame. I forgot about this,” Harry says, having successfully pulled out whatever it was. Louis doesn’t have to wonder for long though, because Harry holds the cheer skirt upright for him to see, wagging it around as though it were on his hips.

  “Next time, babe,” Louis sighs. “I promise you, next time.” 

**Author's Note:**

> if feedback is good i might do another oneshot like this where harry actually wears the cheerleader uniform, yeah?


End file.
